


Syndafloden

by Cadaverinea



Category: Afraid of Monsters & Cry of Fear
Genre: Angst, Bad Ending, Bad English, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Diary/Journal, English, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Memories, Other, POV First Person, Portuguese, Suicide, Suicide Notes, Translation, Very Secret Diary, headcannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 23:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18292718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cadaverinea/pseuds/Cadaverinea
Summary: Before his final destination, Simon gathers every memory of the times his heart was broken, rekindling the fire in his soul, giving him fuel to pull the trigger between remorse and pain.





	Syndafloden

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is a translation of work of mine, since I'm going to start writing in english I thought that a fast exercise like this would be good, hope you like.  
> Based in the song "Syndafloden" by the band "Apati"

"No matter how hard you try to make me realize, how much you're comforting me, helping me  
There is always that small, but yet so strong, spark  
Which somehow makes the fire burn once again  
Which burns me from within and out  
How much you fill me with lies  
Lies about everything being great, it'll be fine, it'll be OK"

 

Being condemned to a wheelchair for the rest of my life is not worth it. To be drowned in a flood of doom and sorrow. Here I am, writing the last words of my great book of life, containing my troubles, my feelings, myself ... I can not help but hate them, Sophie, Purnell, they both lied to me, none of them knew how I've feltl. I'm really a pathetic man. While my crippled body is rotting in this brittle locomotive, I can do little more than say directions to a path I do not know.

 

My hand keeps moving almost automatically, tracing the letters, forming the syllables, the words, the sentences, everything remains equally false, it is as if the pages had been wetted by my tears. My left wrist still hurts, the wounds open in it still bleeding, hidden by long sleeves, but not hidden to my heart, I know they are just waiting there. As the knife sliced my flesh, corrupting every vitality, tearing the tissues. I could only lament for being so weak. Having this great reliance on pain only left me with sequels. If I had not cried so much on the train that night, if I had returned home early; maybe this present could be avoided, maybe a future could exist.

The guilty? Maybe mine for have ignored the messages of the one person who cared for me, my mother, telling me to go home soon. Maybe the man who was numb and stepped on the gas pedal. Maybe the two of us. Regardless of who is to blame, my situation is irreversible. People keep lying to me, drowning-me in eternal lamentation and giving empty advices, I'm immune to their words and queries, it's not as if Sophie could help me, she was just using me to not feel so alone. How stupid of me, to have believed the false words of a sly woman, to be deceived by her false promises, I loved her. I love you Sophie ... I loved you Sophie.

The Doctor continues to clog me with medicines, I feel that I am a test guinea pig for the pharmaceutical industry, having to sustain them from my own misery. I had to move from my house to an adapted apartment, this is not my place, it is not my home, I have to go home soon, my mother must be waiting for me. I do not belong here. This emptiness around me, these monsters that torment me and serve as company, filling the environment with cries of pain, my internal laments. It's not like I got any anger from Purnell ... I hate him. Hate is t the purest feeling, no one pretends to hate someone. Hatred does not make you angry and uncontrolled, it makes you miserable, listless and empty. Hatred will heal all wounds.

 

"I spit in your face and say thanks and good bye  
It's enough! I've heard all too many lies  
The lies which together with the fire are killing me  
Slowly but surely I'm walking around in circles  
Slowly but surely I'm selfdying in this gray city  
of gross concrete, built by gross hands  
Built by false, lying gross fuckers like you"

It's so strange to look at the photos of the people you've studied with for almost a decade, to realize that in none of those images you appear. That you have been a ghost all your life, that none of them understands you and will never understand, they all lied. With their false smiles, their attempts of rapprochement were pure interest. Nobody stays that long with such a troublesome guy. Sophie needed someone to inflate her ego, to tell her that she was perfect, that everything was all right, she did not need me specifically, but anyone pathetic enough to submit to the personal flatter. Even after everything I did for her, I did not even get a thank-you, it's not like I wanted to force anything, but I did not deserve her coldness and ignorance with MY feelings.

This damn idea from the doctor that I should write a book, it was Purnell's fault! It's thanks to him that the shit I call life ends today. It is because of him that these wrists are being torn apart, this is going to be the final cut in the life film of Simon Henriksson, ironic, don't you think? But I deeply appreciate those drugs, these drugs made me a fucking addict, but they gave me clarity, as they always did. The pills showed me the truth, they showed how fake you two were, yes, Sophie, you are included! I got out of this whirlwind of lies you locked me in, I survived the war of rejections, I realized you just needed a puppet.

This moldy apartment, these opaque colors, is all so disgusting and imperfect. I am not worthy enough for a good life, but am I worthy of it? I think not. Is that what you call the cycle of life? Is that what I was born for? To suffer? I want to die, that's why this is going to be my last cry. I'm tired of being the good guy for everyone, of letting them tread on me. Every year at school, being ignored, enduring humiliations, locked in the bathroom all the breaks, with my tears being ignored. I hate you all.

Mother, I love you, but I hate you for bringing me into this world of shit. Dad, thank you so much for being a jerk for much of my life, for cheatin on Mom, for making her feel like me, you made us feel that way. It's your fault too, yes, of all of you! Whoever is reading this, you are still a reason for what will happen today, you are still just another human worm feeding on the carcass of this world, you are like vultures waiting for the remains of the weakest, you feed on the pain, you disgust me. I'm an guy isolated in him own room, because I know this world is made of money and looks.

While you were spending time at parties, I was in grief. While you spent money on narcotics, I was investing in a new knife. While you laughed and had fun at half-time, I hurted myself . While you were talking loud and telling me horrible things, I was whispering low about how I wanted to shoot all of you. I wish I had this gun a few years ago, I wanted to have shot at each of you, seeing your eyes pop out of the orbits with the impact of the bullets. Maybe I should have killed four, or maybe five hundred people, maybe this way I'd feel better, so maybe I felt like I really offered something to society.

"But deep inside I wish that your lies are true  
While I quietly pray  
After rain there's the flood of sin, in which we all shall be caught up in"

That's it. I will go to the grave with more remorse than you realize, this damn page is already ripping because of the strength I am exerting, I hope it is enough to realize that I hate myself and I want to die for your fault! You're going to call me a coward who does not have the courage to move on, but I can not go on with this whole shit if I can not even walk towards my goals. I do not have dreams. I look in the mirror and see someone else. I've never been myself.  
And here I am, with this piece of metal against my head, the trigger finger, is my final action, I hope the blood does not damage the manuscripts, I want you all to read and know how I've felt over the years.

Simon Henriksson's suicide letter

"Dear Diary". It is. I have ended my miserable life. I could not take this shit anymore. Being trapped in a wheelchair for the rest of my damn life just is not worth it. The surgeons told me that everything would be okay, they gave me hope, just to crush her in the soles of their feet and watch me destroy me. They lied to me! They did not know how I felt like!  
I thought I could handle my emotions, control them, countain them, prove they were wrong, but I was too weak. I let it slip through my fingers, out of my grip. It poisoned me, It clouded my mind. They didn't know anything, they could only feel the cold touch of their knives.  
They gave me antidepressants. It helped me think clearly, to see things through. I took an extra couple of pills this afternoon, they showed me what I should do in this ... short moment of clarity. They showed me that there was noone and nothing worth living for. They showed me how fake the doctor and Sophie were, how they laughed behind their masks when I wasn't looking. Laughing at me, my legs, thinking that they are so good, that they are better than me. Pretending that they cared for me, it's all bullshit!  
The pills showed me the truth today, they always did. They opened my eyes, they gave me wisdom, and I acted upon itt. So I had to kill Sophie and my doctor ... my ... "mentor", my "counselor". Heh. I had to take them down with me. They are not laughing anymore! Oh I wished I had taken everybody with me, but unfortunately, my situation makes it impossible.  
For whoever is reading this: I hope that my dead body will haunt you forever. Have fun scraping my brains off the wall.  
Fuck you!

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked, don't you forget to leave a review or a suggestion for a next work


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